Scare the Light Away

by Vicki Delany

  I heated a can of chicken noodle soup and slapped cheese between slices of white bread for grilling.

  Dad and Jason stumbled through the back door, laughing at some private joke. Dad rubbed his great-grandson’s head. “Come out and see what good work the boy’s done, Becky. A chip off the old block this one.”

  I smiled; my dry lips cracked with the effort. “Dad. I have to tell you something.”

  “Grilled cheese, my favorite.” Jason slid into a seat at the kitchen table.

  I chickened out. “I’ll see it after lunch.”

  “Then can we go up and get Sampson?”

  “I’ll have to think about that. Your aunt Aileen isn’t feeling too well and she might be having a nap.”

  “Then Sampson will be bored and happy to see us,” Jason said, making perfectly good sense.

  “Lunch first.” I flipped the hot, gooey sandwiches out of the pan and onto plates.

  “Car coming,” Dad said. “You expecting someone, Becky?”

  “No.” I tripped over my own feet in a rush to get to the front door, prepared to repel invaders. I was surprised that no one had shown up before this, that the phone hadn’t rung while I prepared lunch. The Hope River grapevine must be down for annual maintenance.

  It was an old car, small and liberally caked with the mud of the back roads. Kimmy Wright climbed out. I’d completely forgotten that I’d invited her for lunch.

  She dashed to the steps, holding her raincoat up over her head to give her some shelter against the driving rain.

  Kimmy smiled brightly when I opened the door. Raindrops splashed around her feet as she shook the moisture off her coat. “Gosh, what a miserable day. Everyone’s so glum in the store, it’s a treat to get away for a nice lunch.”

  Not knowing how to get rid of her, I stepped back and let her in.

  Jason wandered out of the kitchen, half a toasted sandwich in his hand. “Hi, Mrs. Michaels. How ya doing?”

  “Fine thank you, young Jason. You visiting your grandpa?”

  “Yup.”

  While they were talking, Kimmy pulled off her shoes and walked into the living room. It was past the time I could politely suggest that she leave.

  She marched into the kitchen with that small town air of breezy familiarity in any friend’s home. My mother’s friends always headed straight for the kitchen, and if she was busy they would put the kettle on, set out teacups, and rummage through the fridge for milk without a second thought. Kimmy greeted Dad with a warm smile and pulled up a chair.

  “I do apologize, Kimmy,” I said. “But I was up at my brother’s house all morning, and lunch isn’t ready.” I looked at her face, searching for a smirk, a sign that she knew why I’d been at Jimmy’s.

  Instead, she smiled and said, “Don’t worry yourself. Jason seems to like that soup. That’ll be perfectly fine for me too.”

  Another can came out of the cupboard.

  “Time to get back to work, young man.” Dad tossed back the last of his sandwich and stood up. “Nice seeing you, Kimberly.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. McKenzie. Mrs. McKenzie was a nice woman.”

  “Thank you. Come on, Jason. Wood’s calling.”

  I busied my hands collecting sandwich ingredients. “Any gossip in town today?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. Linda Jones is expecting her fourth. You won’t know the Jones family though. They aren’t from around here.”

  “Do you have any children, Kimmy?”

  “Two. Clint and Samantha. Samantha moved to Toronto soon as she finished school, but Clint’s still around.”

  “That’s nice.”

  She dug through her purse and pulled out a pair of photos. An acne-scarred boy with long, shapeless, greasy hair, and a sullen expression, and a girl as beautiful as the Kimmy I remembered.

  “Your daughter’s lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What does she do, in Toronto?”

  “She wants to be a model, but it’s tough, you know? Right now she’s waitressing, waiting for that big break.”

  “I hope she finds it.”

  “Thanks.” After a fond glance, she tucked the pictures back into her purse, and I served up chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.

  Kimmy chatted happily through the meal, commiserating with the Taylor family, then offering news about people we had gone to high school with that I hadn’t spared a thought for in thirty years. I waited for my cell phone to ring. Why hadn’t Singh called me by now? How was Aileen doing? Should I go home tomorrow or not?

  The rain beat steadily against the kitchen windows. Out in the woods, a tree groaned under the force of the wind.

  “April showers bring May flowers,” Kimmy recited, putting on a childish singsong voice.

  The back door flew open on a gust of wind and blew Jason in like flotsam in the storm. “Gotta go to the bathroom.”

  “I’d better be getting back,” Kimmy said with a world-weary sigh. “It was fun talking to you. Can’t sit here all day, much as I’d like to.”

  “I’m afraid that I wasn’t terribly good company, Kimmy. I am sorry, but I have things on my mind.” I walked her to the door.

  “Don’t you worry.” She bent over to tie her shoes and groaned with the effort. “I understand. I’ll be absolutely devastated when it comes time to bury my mom. When Frank died, I woulda died right after him, if it hadn’t been for Mom reminding me that I had Clint and Samantha to worry about.”

  “Frank?” I said weakly. God, how shallow can I get? I hadn’t even thought to ask about her children’s father.

  “My husband, Frank? You remember Frank Michaels from school? He was ice fishing with some of the guys, round about this time of year it was, far too late for them to be out on the ice, but it was a late spring and they’d had too much to drink. They fell in. Frank drowned. Him and Kevin Schneider. Alain Deon lost three fingers to frostbite.”

  “Gosh, I’m sorry, Kimmy.”

  “It was a long time ago. The kids were babies. I’m only telling you ’cause if it weren’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have survived.”

  I opened the front door, Jason returned from the bathroom asking if he could have a cookie, and Sampson ran down the hill. Jason gave a cry of glee and ran out to greet the dog, heedless of the rain. She was filthy, the long hairs under her belly coated in mud, her feet soaking wet. She barked as she ran, her voice tinged with a panic I’d never heard from her before.

  “Jason. Stop,” I yelled at the boy.

  He skidded to a halt on the steps of the porch and looked from Sampson to me, confusion written all over his freckled face. “Is she okay?”

  “No.”

  Sampson turned and ran a few steps back in the direction from which she’d come. Back toward the big house. She looked over her shoulder to see if I was following. I wasn’t. She barked and ran another few yards.

  “Something’s wrong with Aileen.” I flew down the steps. Now that I was coming, Sampson took off, heading back up the hill at full speed.

  I splashed through newly formed puddles and over lichen-covered ancient rocks, scarcely noticing that my feet were wearing only socks. Kimmy and Jason followed behind me, and I didn’t have the presence of mind to turn and tell them to go back.

  That was an oversight I would regret bitterly in the hours to come.

  The door was locked and the curtains on the windows were drawn. I knocked lightly on the door and whispered, “Aileen, it’s Rebecca. Let me in.”

  The house was quiet; the only sounds rain pounding on the roof, wind crawling underneath the wide front porch, waves lapping at the rocks lining the shore of the lake, and Sampson scratching at the door with a nervous high-pitched whine.

  I knocked again. Louder this time.

  No answer.

  Something was wrong. I had no idea what, but I wasn’t about to walk away just because she didn’t open the door.

  “I’m coming in, Aileen,” I yelled. “Hold on,
I’ll be right there. Stand back from the window.” I picked up a small side-table, left outside with the promise of spring’s arrival, and prepared to heave it through the living room window. But that wasn’t necessary. The door creaked open and Aileen stood there. Her face so pale she might well have risen from the dead in order to prevent me from breaking her big bay window.

  “I’m perfectly fine, Rebecca. Please stop interfering and go away.” She didn’t open the door more than a few inches but rather she crouched half behind it. Her voice was as flat and lifeless as if she really had recently stepped out of her grave.

  My heart fell into my stomach. “Oh, no. What’s happened to Jimmy? Please, what’s happened to Jimmy?”

  Not as well brought up as I, Sampson simply threw her substantial weight against the door and knocked Aileen out of the way. The steps creaked as Kimmy and Jason arrived, the overweight Kimmy panting as if she’d run the four-minute mile.

  Aileen fell backward as if she’d been jerked off her feet. I heard an explosion followed by a scream of pain, and smelled a sharp, pungent burning.

  Chapter 46

  The Diary of Janet McKenzie. September 1, 1974

  She is gone. And taken my heart with her. My Rebecca, the child of my dreams, left on the morning bus for Toronto. She has a place at the University and a room in residence. I can scarcely imagine how wonderful it will be for her. I was barely her age when I was Wife to Bob McKenzie and Mother to Shirley. How exciting it all seemed then, and how limiting it really was.

  She was so frightened, getting onto the bus. And trying to look so brave. My heart almost broke right there. Bob drove us, and his old mother came. She’s scarcely able to get around now but she wanted to come. I’m glad she did.

  Mr. M., of course, has done nothing but rant for months about the waste of education on girls, and the better use he could put my money to.

  The only thing spoiling the day was Jim’s absence. But he will be out of jail in a few months. Shirley would have come, but Elizabeth is down with a bad cold and Shirl couldn’t leave her. She’s a good mother, my Shirley, I’ll grant her that. But she has barely spoken to Rebecca these past months. They are years apart, of course, sisters in nothing but blood. Jealousy is eating Shirley alive. But what can I do for her? The scholarship takes care of Rebecca’s tuition, and I pay for her room and living expenses. Even after three years of that there’ll be money left over from Aunt Joan’s inheritance. But how can I give a married woman like Shirley money? That would be to imply that her husband can’t keep his own family.

  Mrs. M. is poorly and has been so for quite some time, so she has been spending more and more time here with us in the little house. She needs care. Mr. M. can’t understand why she isn’t leaping out of her chair to attend to his every whim. And so he stomps down the hill all mad, looking for someone to fix him a sandwich or make a cup of coffee. I ignore him but Bob, of course, jumps to attention.

  There is something demeaning about a man in his fifties fetching his father a beer or making him tea and toast because he’s afraid of the belt if he doesn’t.

  October 29, 1974

  I miss Rebecca dreadfully. This house is so dark and tiny and cramped without her. But I’m glad she is far away from here. She escaped—her grandfather tried to crush her in every way he could, but she was strong. Very strong. Since she began to blossom into womanhood I’ve watched her with every breath I could spare. Not that I was afraid of the boys from town or school. She had too much sense to throw her life away on them. But I caught her grandfather eyeing her once, and once was too much for me. And my own son Jim is far, far too much like the old man for me to trust him an inch with my daughter; although I will admit that he has never shown her any more attention than if she were the family cat.

  I hate so much to say it (when I started this diary didn’t I promise to tell it everything?) but I’m glad my son stays away from here as much as he does. In jail or drinking his way from one town to another, it doesn’t matter to me. To tell the truth, I delight in the look on the old man’s face when he realizes that his precious ‘Little Jim’ is so much like him that the boy thinks of nothing but himself from one minute to the next.

  Chapter 47

  The door opened fully and Kyle Taylor stood there, an ugly black gun held in his meaty right hand. Sampson lay in the doorway, red blood spilling from her side in a rapidly spreading pool. Jason ran toward her, but Kimmy’s hand reached out to pull him back. “Stay still,” she whispered.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Kyle screamed. The gun swayed back and forth between us. “Get the fuck in here.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “But let me look at my dog, please.”

  “Leave the goddamned dog alone,” he screamed. “Get the fuck in here.”

  Sampson whimpered and looked up at me with one large brown eye.

  “Can’t leave the dog lying here in the doorway.” Despite breathing heavily from the unaccustomed exercise, Kimmy was the voice of calm reason. “Anyone passing will see her right away.”

  Kyle looked at me, then at Kimmy. The gun shook in his hand and finally pointed at Sampson. “Bring it in.” He backed up into the house, his beady, dark eyes and big gun watching us. “Kid, you come here.”

  My nephew slipped past Sampson, his eyes not leaving her. “Please don’t hurt the dog, mister. She’s a good dog.”

  “Shut up.”

  I lifted Sampson’s head while Kimmy shoved the hefty hindquarters. The dog’s eyes rolled in her head, and she whimpered in pain as she was half-dragged, half-pushed across the floor. But we got her into the house.

  “Shut the fuckin’ door.”

  Kimmy kicked the door closed behind her.

  “You go and sit over there.”

  Kimmy did as she was told but I stood my ground. “You’ve shot my dog. It looks bad. Let the boy run for the vet. We’ll wait right here.”

  “No one’s going anywhere. The kid stays here.” Kyle’s round face was flushed an unhealthy red, and he was breathing almost as heavily as Kimmy. Sweat poured off his greasy hair and ran down his forehead and cheeks. He lifted one hand—not the gun hand—to wipe away a stream of sweat before it reached his eyes. His pupils looked normal—wide and frightened, reflecting thoughts out of control, but as far as I could tell with my limited knowledge of what a spaced-out druggie looked like, normal. He gave off a rancid odor, like he’d slept in a horse stall for a week. Or perhaps out in the swamp. He twitched with tension and nerves, and he burped, straight into my face. He might not be on drugs, but he was well soaked in beer.

  Kimmy whispered to Jason to come and sit with her. The couch squeaked as he climbed up onto her ample lap. Aileen whimpered in fear, and Sampson moaned in pain.

  “Okay, whatever you say,” I said. “But that dog needs attention. I’ll get some bandages and towels.”

  Kyle raised the gun with great deliberation and pointed it directly at my head. “You don’t sit down, lady, you’ll be the one needing bandages.”

  “Rebecca, please. Do as he says,” Aileen said, her voice breaking.

  Kyle wiped another stream of sweat out of his eyes. The room was cool; he wasn’t overheating because of the temperature. The hand holding the gun shook so much it was a good thing that it wasn’t motion-activated.

  Strange how your mind works sometimes. Rather than worrying about my predicament, I considered that I’d never seen an actual handgun before. Like everyone else in the western world, I’d seen many guns, all shapes and colors and sizes, in the movies or on TV. But up close and in real life, from this angle Kyle’s gun looked very different from what I would have expected. Cold and impersonal. Unfeeling and angry at the same time.

  “Can I sit with the dog?” I asked.

  “No, you can’t sit with the dog. What’s the matter with you, you stupid bitch? I told you to sit over there. Do it!”

  “Please, Aunt Rebecca.”

  I sat on the couch between Aileen and Kimmy. Jason’s
head was buried deep in Kimmy’s wide bosom. There really wasn’t enough room on the couch for four, but none of us minded.

  Kyle walked backward to a dining room chair and straddled it, sitting down heavily. He faced us, the gun hand still shaking.

  “What seems to be going on here?” I asked, attempting to sound perfectly pleasant and full of common sense. “Are you looking for something, Kyle? It’s Kyle, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’m Kyle.”

  “He’s looking for Jim,” Aileen said. “But I told him that he isn’t here.”

  “That’s right. Jim isn’t here. Why don’t you go home and we’ll have him call you when he gets back.”

  “Do you think I’m stupid, lady?”

  Yes.

  “He could be away for a few days,” I said. “We can’t sit here all day. Mrs. Michaels here is due back at work. They’ll be looking for her, won’t they, Kimmy?”

  His eyes darted between Kimmy and me. He licked his lips, which were badly chapped. “Well, then they’ll have to keep on looking.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. Sampson whimpered and looked questioningly at me, her brown eyes full of pain, wondering what was happening to her and why I wasn’t helping her. Then she gave one big sigh and closed her eyes. Kimmy stroked Jason’s hair rhythmically and spoke to him in a gentle, soothing voice. Aileen watched Kyle.

  “I knew your dad in school. Mrs. Michaels did too,” I said, trying to open some sort of a channel of communication. “Did your dad tell you that we dated for a while?”

  “Yeah,” Kyle sneered. “He said you were hot for it all the time. A real bitch in heat. And now you’ve come back and actin’ all hoity-toity like you’re better than us Hope River folks.” He looked at me down the barrel of his gun and eyed my casual sweats and muddy socks. And the trace of a bruise still darkening my cheekbone. “You don’t look like such a stuck-up rich bitch to me.”

  No one said anything else for a good bit of time.

  But of course, I had to talk again. “My father will be looking for us soon. When he can’t find Jason he’ll call the police right away.” Actually, once Dad realized that both Jason and I were not in the house, he would assume that I’d taken the boy to visit Aileen and go off for his afternoon nap. Calling the police would be the last thing he’d think of doing if he assumed his great-grandson was with me. I could only hope that he wouldn’t decide to join us.